


Jared Got a Gun

by wolfinyourbed



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: A/B/O, ABO, Double Penetration, M/M, Objectification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9448226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfinyourbed/pseuds/wolfinyourbed
Summary: An arranged marriage. Desperate times. Desperate measures.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the kink meme prompt: "After a short, intense courtship, Jared marries Jensen and moves to his home, several states away. Expecting a devoted husband and the beginnings of a happily ever after, Jared finds he is a marriage of convenience. Brought up in the conservative and old fashioned town, Jensen and JDM see nothing wrong with using Jared to cover their years long relationship. Or with using the big omega as little more than than a fuckhole for them to share."
> 
> I suspect this isn't exactly what you wanted, prompter, be forewarned. But I had fun with it, so apologies! HEED THE WARNINGS.

●●●

  
  


There's a light rap on the door.

Jared rolls over, groggy, aching. He didn't sleep well, as usual. He never does after he's been rode hard and put up wet, as the stale cliché goes. In his case, it's all too accurate. He's sticky with come everywhere; it glues the sheets to his body, pulls at his hair. If he hadn't been exhausted, he would've washed but at three in the morning, he just wanted to fall into a numb sleep.

He has no idea what time it is now; the colorless light stabbing through the curtains indicates too early. His jaw is stiff, his ass hurts, and there's Jeff opening the door, a cigarette loosely caught between two fingers. He's dressed for the shop in clean but weathered jeans, a crisp shirt, leather jacket, his glasses shoved up to hold back his graying hair. Unarguably handsome. Quietly cruel.

“Wakey, wakey, rabbit,” he says, oozing an Alpha growl all over the words. “Clean up. I've gotta get to work.” He's leaving, but then he turns, grins with all his teeth. “And so do you.”

Jared feels the burn of shame well up in his sinuses, but he won't let the tears spill. They like it too much. “Yessir,” he murmurs as he sits up, dropping his bare feet to the cold floor. They don't allow him to sleep in clothes.

He waits until the door shuts before he pads to the bathroom, shivering. He brushes his teeth to get the taste of last night out of his mouth. The wedding ring, a simple band, is secreted in the medicine cabinet for the scant amount of time it takes to shower. Jared turns on the water to heat it up. He stares at his ribs and the fading cigarette burns until steam fills the room and obscures the mirror. The water is as hot as it can get.

Scalded and clean, he dresses silently. Jensen buys him nice clothes, because that's what a good Alpha does. A&F jeans. Shirts that fit snug across his back. It's all artifice. The better to fuck you with, my dear. He decides to shave later. If he doesn't get out there before Jeff leaves, Jensen will take it out on his hide. Nothing metaphorical about it.

Jared swipes his palm across the mirror, tucking his hair behind his ears. His gaze wanders the reflection past his shoulder to the heating grate in the wall, one of those ornate iron ones. The home is older and full of character touches like this. It's Jensen's job; he renovates houses. There used to be brass screws holding the grate in place, but Jared has taken them out. He exhales, shutters his expression, and flicks off the lights as he leaves.

The wide-planked floors creak underfoot as he walks down the hall into the kitchen, and finds Jensen at the restaurant-grade stove, cooking eggs. Toast springs up in the toaster as Jensen looks over at Jared, smiling fondly. The expression hardly reaches his eyes, though. Jared doesn't fall for the Hollywood good-looks anymore. “Juice is on the table,” Jensen says, with a gesture of the spatula. Like they're one big happy family. “Drink up. You look pale. Winter blues already?”

 _Yeah, we'll go with that._ “Must be.” Jared returns the smile perfunctorily. His stomach groans, reminding him he didn't eat last night. Not dinner, anyways. He still hurts when he eases into a chair, but there's three aspirin sitting beside his glass of juice, as if someone's vaguely apologetic for fucking him raw mere hours before. Jared's money is on Jensen. Jeff seldom regrets, well, anything.

Jensen comes over with the skillet, dumps a mountain of eggs on Jared's plate, wedges toast into the mound. “Eat up. You haven't exactly been batting a thousand lately.” He clucks his tongue, and Jared's heart stutters in his chest. Jensen gives pause, setting the pan down on the table. He leans in, close, nuzzles at Jared's jaw, just under the damp tips of his hair. Jared hears him take a deep breath, feels teeth graze his stubble. “Is someone needing a little attention, hmm?”

The proximity only serves to make Jared more anxious. He's got to get a grip, dial back his panic. He and Jensen have very different definitions of 'attention'.

“I'm fine, thanks,” Jared manages to eke out.

“Then eat.” A chuckle rumbles from Jensen, and he chucks Jared under the chin before returning to the stove. Jared can breathe again.

There's nothing wrong with the eggs, but Jared can barely finish. Something heavy sits in the air, heavier than the usual scent of Alpha drifting off of both Jensen and Jeff. Maybe it's Jared's imagination. Maybe it's instinct. Maybe it's because Jared knows he's due to come into season at any moment, and more than anything else in the world, he can't bring a child into this mess that his life has become.

He looks down at his left hand. There's a slight white band of skin where his wedding ring should've been. Shit.

Jeff steps in from the back porch, having finished his smoke, and catches the look in Jared's eye, the direction of his glance.

Of course he does.

Jared slips his hands into his lap, but it's too late. Jeff takes his sweet ol' time strolling to the table, and Jensen quirks a brow, wiping his hands on a dishtowel, watching. Jared's sweating already.

“Hands,” Jeff says, so casually that Jared shudders.

He can't dodge this now. And he can't resist the understated command in Jeff's voice. The hair on his nape prickles, and his fingers tremble as he places his hands on the table and stares at them. He doesn't dare look at Jeff.

“Where's the ring, rabbit?”

Jared hears Jensen step away from the stove. “Aw, Jared.” He winds into view, cupping his palm under Jared's jaw. Forces his face upwards, snaring Jared's attention with irresistible ease. His expression feigns pity. Jared knows better. “Don't we treat you good? Don't you like it here?”

“Y-yes—”

“Don't you want to make us happy?”

“God, yes.”

“Then,” Jensen leans closer, “why did you forget the ring? Do you want to ruin everything?”

“No. No of course not.”

“I'm trying to help you here, you see that, don't you? If you don't play along, play _your part_ , you'll bring shame on all of us. Right? You see that, yeah?”

Jared finds himself nodding.

Jensen tilts his head, sympathy in his eyes, but he clutches Jared's jaw tighter. “And you won't shame just us, but your family too. Think of what it would do to them if we took the money back.” He drifts in closer still, coffee on his breath. “If they found out what you let us do to you.”

Jared grinds his teeth. Intellectually, he knows it's bullshit. But his family doesn't. And frankly, his body doesn't either. It's fucking unfair how Jensen's sage green eyes bullet into him, and his touch and voice and scent makes heat condense in Jared's belly. Jensen is beautiful. He was everything Jared thought he wanted. He was so wrong.

Unbidden, Jared gets wet. His body betrays him. He bites back a moan and rubs into Jensen's hand, lets his eyes drift closed and his brain shut down. It's the best way. He tucks his intellect into an empty corner of his mind, disconnecting. He lets his body want.

Suddenly, he's pulled from the chair by the collar. Jeff has a fistful of Jared's hair and shirt in his hand, and he drags him stumbling into the living room. Jensen follows on his heels, his face unreadable.

Jared's thrown over the back of their big leather couch, bent at the waist as Jeff weights him in place with this body. Rough hands unbuckle Jared's belt and scrape the jeans down his thighs. Jared can't stop himself from mewling, shades of need and fear in his whines. He hears more jangling, the sound of Jeff's pants hitting the floor and Jeff saying “Shut him up,” as the sharp crack of a slap stings across Jared's bare ass. Jared yelps.

Jensen stoops, faux sympathy in his eyes. “Shhh. You gotta be a good boy.” He stuffs a bandanna into Jared's mouth, the dry fabric wicking all the moisture off Jared's tongue. But it does the trick. Jared doesn't cry anymore; he bites down on the bandanna, catching the edge of his tongue in the process. He tastes metal.

Thick and warm, Jeff's cock drives up and down between Jared's cheeks, getting harder, faster. His rough breathing hovers somewhere over Jared's head, and Jensen breaks out in a foxy grin.

As Jared watches Jensen's long-lashed gaze, the way his eyes dance when he smiles, Jeff shoves into Jared's ass, unceremoniously. Searing pain can feel like ecstasy sometimes. If you let it. After last night, Jared's had plenty of practice. His skull is held at an angle by Jeff's fist in his hair. Tears squeeze out of Jared's eyes as Jeff jackhammers into him, pinching Jared's own dick between the couch and his lap. Jensen chuckles.

“Well done,” he murmurs, whiskey smooth. He ruffles Jared's hair and disappears, the sound of his footsteps lost in the thudding of Jeff into Jared, of Jared's heartbeat in his own ears.

Jared wants to spit out the bandanna but he doesn't. Jensen's good-cop routine isn't a sure bet. This whole ruse, the fraudulent marriage, pretending to care, _everything_ had been Jensen's idea, after all.

Jeff's fingers dig into the meat of Jared's flanks and one of Jared's feet is kicked to widen his stance. By whom, he's not sure, and then there's the brush of flesh against his pussy, just below where Jeff is pounding away—the swelling of his knot blunting against Jared's prostate over and over in electric zings.

Fingers toy into Jared's cunt, nimble little wiggles that make him moan. Of course it's Jensen. He's very good with his fingers. And his tongue. He tends to have a broader repertoire than Jeff, and doesn't mind pleasuring Jared into brilliant agony as Jeff gets off.

Jared already feels rammed full when Jensen plies fingers into him, almost gently, a blessed contrast. One finger, then a second. Twisting just enough, Jensen's thumb brushes Jared's sensitive clit. And then somehow, a third finger, less thoughtfully applied. Shoving persistently deeper.

Jared has to cough out the bandanna and wail; he can't give a fuck anymore. The house is out in the middle of Nowhere, Texas, miles from the nearest neighbor; the gag was likely just for Jeff's vanity or Jensen's amusement. There's blood on Jared's tongue and too much pressure inside. Jeff belts into him one last time and growls loudly as he comes. Jensen flicks his thumb, rapidfire, and Jared shivers out his own involuntary orgasm, clenching around everything inside of him.

“Good boy, good boy,” Jensen says, caressing the back of Jared's thighs with his free hand.

Jeff exhales and rips out, gives Jared's ass another smack because he can, and Jared slides back off the couch as his knees buckle. He's pretty sure he's torn something, deep within.

Sloe-eyed and satisfied, Jeff pulls up his jeans but leaves them unbuckled as he goes to the kitchen to clean himself up. “Gonna be late. Got to get to work. Jen, take care of the boy,” he calls back.

“Don't I always?” Jensen has his hand atop Jared's head, stroking through his hair. “If you wait a minute, I'll ride in with you.”

“Make it quick.” Water runs in the sink.

Jensen crouches down, clears his throat when Jared won't look him in the eye. “Don't be a brat, Jared. You done good. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Yessir,” Jared mumbles, sniffling. He feels sapped, sex-loose, and he hates it.

“We'll probably be late tonight. Dinner at 8, okay? There's venison in the freezer. You can do something with that.”

Jared nods.

“And then later, you can do something with me.” He can hear the amusement in Jensen's voice. “Gotta go.” He gives Jared a light kiss to the top of his head and gets up. Grabbing a leather jacket and helmet from the stand in the foyer, he and Jeff head out. They don't even bother to shut the wooden door; wind and birdsong drifts into the house through the screen. They know Jared won't run. After a moment, Jeff's big Harley roars to life, guns several powerful bursts, then fades off down the long drive. Jared smells the kicked-up dust in the air.

  
  


●●●

  
He takes another shower, spits blood into the drain. The water runs from red to pink to clear. He puts the clothes he'd been wearing into the trash and dons an unsoiled outfit: his most nondescript clothing, older jeans, a plain white t-shirt. He doesn't want to be found naked. And then he takes the gun out of the heating grate, tucks the tip under his chin, and squeezes his eyes shut. Listens to the house breathe. Tries to picture the mess he'll make when he pulls the trigger, brain splattered all over the ceiling and soft blue towels.

He should call the cops first, so they'll come out and find the congealing blood … his bowels will probably release and the smell will be horrid. And then word will get out and everyone will feel sorry for poor, poor Jensen Ackles.

Jared lowers the gun.

No.

  
  


●●●

  
It's dusk when Jared hears Jeff's bike again, like the genesis of a far-away storm. Looking back at the well-appointed farmhouse, not a single light has been left burning. Jared has dragged his entire wardrobe out here to the pond, and made a bonfire. They'll see it, after they find the venison Jared has left on the counter, thawing, probably leaking blood through the butcher's wrap.

They'll be pissed. They'll be hungry and expecting dinner, and pissed as hell.

Jared isn't wrong.

He sees a glow flick on within the house, and knows it's in the kitchen. Silhouettes pass to and fro in front of the windows, then the back door whacks open. He can't tell which of them it is, until the figure hits the edge of the back porch and he sees lighter hair, slightly bowed legs.

Jensen descends the steps and strides purposefully across the slightly sloping yard, a hundred feet or so, towards the pond. He spreads his arms in question as he approaches.

“Jared?” He doesn't sound angry. Yet. But Jared can read it in Jensen's scent, the feral tang of warning. It oozes 'predator', making Jared want to flee, but he holds his ground. It's not easy.

“I won't go in,” Jared says quietly, letting his voice show his fear. This, on the other hand, is very easy.

“So you left the meat out? I don't—”

“I bled all morning.”

Jensen is silent for a heartbeat, his expression null, but it sends a klaxon of _runrunrun_ through Jared's brain. Slowly, a smile draws across Jensen's face. He takes a step and reaches out his hand; Jared flinches, steels himself for a slap that never comes. The hand strokes Jared's cheek, thumb brushing across his lips.

“You've bled before, baby. Why did this time bother you so much?”

Jared's trembling; he can't help it. His eyes well up. “H-hurts.”

Canting his head, Jensen sighs. “You should be honored we picked you. This is your life, hmm? Your birthright. And you'll do your job, like a champ.” He tugs Jared in closer, pulling him down to bump foreheads. “You're ours. We're yours. What choice do you have?”

Jared sags, pressing his body into Jensen's. He doesn't draw his hand from the pocket of his hoodie when he pulls the trigger. Their bodies muffle the noise and the flare of the shot.

Jensen's eyes go wide. _Why?_ When he coughs, the tiniest bit of blood flecks the corner of his pretty, pretty mouth. His legs fold, and Jared has to clutch him tight to keep him from falling. He's literally dead weight; funny, how accurate the cliché is. Jared's not sure how much Jeff can see, in the light from the bonfire, when he comes out of the house and pauses at the edge of the porch. Jared looks over, past Jensen's head on his shoulder, but he can't see Jeff's face through the dark.

“Well?” Jeff barks. The word echos across the pond.

Jared doesn't respond. Jensen's body slides in his grip as Jared starts to sweat. He listens with all his wherewithal for footsteps beyond the crackling of the flames, and finally, Jeff ghosts into view.

His face is pulled tight with rage. “The fuck, _boy_?” When Jensen doesn't move, except to slip farther down in Jared's arms, it all clicks with the speed of a punch. Jared can see it in Jeff's eyes, scent it on the air.

Jensen's body hits the ground. Jared pulls the gun from his sweatshirt as Jeff kicks at the bonfire, a blast of sparks and flame leaping.

Jared is briefly flare-blinded; he raises the gun to aim at something, anything, but a fist cracks into his cheekbone and he stumbles backwards.

He doesn't lose the gun, though. He can't lose the gun. He pinwheels and bolts towards the pond to get away from the fire, and Jeff gives chase. Every cell is screaming with panic. Jared's taller by almost a head and running at full-throttle, but he stumbles, and Jeff slams into him.

Jared falls down hard, goes still.

“You piece of shit, what did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO.”

Jeff cuts loose with a stream of expletives, breathing down the back of Jared's neck, but he doesn't move. Jared's hair is flung across his face, hands pinned under both of their bodies.

With a grunt, Jeff rocks back, his fingers like vices on Jared's already bruised hips, and he throws Jared like a sack of feed. Rolling sideways, tumbling towards the water's edge.

Jeff lumbers to his feet and spins.

There's a boom and a flash. And then a bloom of red across Jeff's chest. The blood looks almost black in the moonlight.

“What … did …” Jeff falls backwards.

  
  


●●●

  
The clothes are burnt to cinders. The garage is one motorcycle emptier. And there's a gun sitting at the bottom of a pond in Texas, next to two sheet-wrapped bodies with bricks at their feet.

The rabbit is on the run.

 

 


End file.
